


Make Me Forget

by Tan_lines



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demons Are Assholes, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Gen, Hallucinating Sam Winchester, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Hurt Sam Winchester, I'm Sorry Sam Winchester, Memory Loss, One Shot, Pain, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Rituals, Sam Winchester Deals With Things, Sam Winchester Detoxing From Demon Blood, Sam Winchester Needs a Break, Season/Series 08, Self-Harm, Suffering, Torture, Trauma, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), Vampires, Witches, ish?, satan is wearing a party hat at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tan_lines/pseuds/Tan_lines
Summary: “What did you do this time Sam?”“It didn’t work… I gave everything, and it didn’t work…”“I can see that. So much sacrifice to reverse the one sacrifice you can’t live with. I’d laugh if I didn’t think you’d kill me.”“I need your help.”“I’ve helped you enough. The only reason I did what I did was because you threatened my life, and even then I warned you it wouldn’t work, that you’d only be ripping your soul further.”“Please just, just this one thing.”“I can’t undo what you’ve done Sam.”“I’m not asking you to.”“Then what?”“Make me forget.”IDEA: Season 8 {fix-it?} in which Sam did some horrible things to try and bring Dean back with the help of a witch named Amelia, and when it doesn’t work he has her alter his memories from that time to what we see in canon. Long one-shot. **SELF-HARM AND OTHER YUCKIES AHEAD, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED** (a.k.a. sit down, drink some water, prepare yourself)
Relationships: Amelia Richardson/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Make Me Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Ok but seriously, this has some dark sh*t. You have been warned.

  
  
  


_ Oh God. _

Except God was gone, didn’t care, let this happen. Again. Why was it always him, always this, always how it ended?

Somewhere there was the clatter of rubble shifting, muffled screams beyond thick walls, thuds of bodies hitting linoleum floors. But Sam’s ears were filled with nothing but the dull ring left behind from the explosion, the static of shock that buzzed through his trembling limbs.

_ Gone, gone, gone, gone again _ , he fell to his knees.  _ No, no, no _ , his stomach rolled and he dry heaved, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of burning tears.  _ Alone _ .

That’s what Crowley had said. How he had left him. A defeated man crouching in refuse holding nothing in his hands but dust and blood. Dean was gone, probably dead, not dead, no a Winchester doesn’t just  _ die _ . No one just died.

Then he was in Hell. Hell,  _ Hell _ , oh God not again…

_ “Hello Sammy.” _

Sam screamed at the emptiness above him, picking up a piece of shattered glass and ripping into his hand with such force that he almost went through to the other side. He sobbed and laughed as he dragged the impromptu blade down his wrist and arm, blood seeping from the jagged cut in thick, shining pearls. 

He pulled the glass to his elbow, then took it in the other hand, slicing his right arm open. Blood pooled beneath him, staining his clothes so they stuck to his body. He was sweating, panting, screaming still. 

_ Alone, alone, alone _ .

_ “That’s right Sam, all alone. Why is it whenever something goes wrong your brother pays for it? Maybe because you’re always the problem.” _

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” He cried, beating his bloody, broken fists on the floor, punctuating his screams with the muted smack of wet flesh on solid ground.

His vision was fading, edges blurring and darkening like a poorly done vignette roasting in the sun. The weight of his heaving sobs lifting from his shoulders as he slumped into nothing. Minutes later sirens punctuated the air, sharpened arrows of sound piercing the smoke and screams and soot. They found him in the basement lying in a pool of his own blood. Everyone else in the building was dead.

\---------------------

_ “They won’t let you go now, you’re weak. Pathetic. What are you without Dean? Nothing. Empty, unclean, a shell really. Why don’t you come back to me? I could fill you up.” _

Sam stared forward. His arms were held up to either side wrapped mummy-style until all you could see were the tips of his fingernails, cracked blood embedded under them still. Permanent stains of failure.

_ “That’s what you were doing wasn’t it? Sure you might not have been thinking straight but deep down you knew what you had to do. If only they had come a few minutes later, we were so close to seeing each other for real this time. I miss you Sammy.” _

There was a painting on the wall. It was cheap in the way that all the art in the hospital was cheap. Splattered watercolor in between abstract and surrealism, like the painter had tried to capture a subject but his brushes betrayed him, the mutinous paint running in rivulets down the canvas until all that was left of concrete lines was a lake of clouded pastel.

_ “I wonder what you’ll do now. Probably something stupid. Remember the last time Dean left you? The worthless piece of shit you are? He left you and you ruined your life. There’s no righteous man to hold you back now. If I came out last time, I wonder what chaos your pitiful desperation will release this time ‘round.” _

He was focusing on twitching the joints in his toes when the doctor came in. Her white coat was pristine, unwrinkled. The hunting part of his brain analyzed her in a second. New, fresh from her residence and excited to help people. Intrigued by the events at Roman Enterprises and the strange man that no one knew, the strange man that had been the only one to survive. She was probably going to try and get him to talk today. 

“Hey sir, how are you feeling?”

He stared at the painting and Lucifer laughed.

_ “Playing the strong, silent type? That’s so Dean! Yeah, Dean’d like her. That firm waist, the way her shirt stretches just far enough in just the right places… yummy. The blonde hair too, reminds me of that other one… what was her name? The one that roasted above you like a pig on a spit.” _

“I’m going to check your vitals and bandages. Need to make sure those stitches are still intact. You did quite a number on your arms there.”

_ “Jessica! That’s it, she looks like Jessica! You let her down too didn’t you Sam? You let her die just like you let your brother die.” _

“Well, it looks like we’re making progress, physically that is.”

_ “Are we Sammy? Are we making progress? I’d like to think so. I’d like to think as soon as you can move your body again you’re gonna get out of here and come back to me. Wouldn’t that be nice? Just the two of us against the world.” _

“I don’t suppose you’d be in the mood for talking today? Dr. Bennings says it isn’t shock at this point, so why don’t you tell me who you are? Why you’re here?”

_ “Go on Sam, tell her. You know you want to. Tell the nice doctor how big brother saved the day again and died for it because you were too weak…” _

“Sir?”

Sam’s eyes ticked over an inch at a time along with the clack of the clock on the wall until he was staring into her too blue eyes.

_ “Hey, those are the same color as your angel’s! Oh wait, he’s gone too isn’t he? Everyone left you Sam. All you have left is little old me. He might’ve taken my strength away, but I’m never going to leave you bunk buddy.” _

He shut his eyes. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that nothing truly mattered. A part of his mind wondered if the staff would connect him to the murders his leviathan doppelganger committed, and sentence him to death. He hoped it would be slow, and painful. He deserved no less.

_ “That’s right Sam. Let them kill you, then you can come visit me. It gets so lonely down here.” _

“If you’re not feeling up to it, I understand. I’ll be back in a few hours, Dr. Bennings will also be in to talk to you, okay?”

He kept his eyes closed as she left, a few seconds passing before he heard the door to his room open and close again. He imagined her staring wistfully behind her as she went, thinking of the man in the bed as just another unsolved mystery. 

_ “So sentimental.” _

\---------------------

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great Sam Winchester himself, resorting to summoning a lowly creature like me.” The demon smirked, prowling around the edges of the devil’s trap, hands swinging carelessly at his sides. He was in the body of a teenage boy, and the chilling smile made his face look twisted and wrong.

“Now what could you want now? Crowley maybe? Your prophet?  _ Your brother? _ ” It laughed, a cold, humorless sound.

“No actually,” He said, pulling out the knife. “I wanted you.” 

The blade gleamed under the flickering lights of the old warehouse and the stray beams of moonlight that snuck through the cracks in the rotted roof. For a moment some part of him yearned to take it’s sharp serrated edge and trace it along the lines of his old hand scar, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t do anything. 

_ “That’s right Sam, I’m glad we’re learning.” _

The demon backed up at the sight of the knife, taking a step before growling and crouching in on itself. It had nowhere to go. Sam had made sure the trap was small enough to skewer the body without even stepping inside.

“What are you doing with that?” It hissed, black eyes narrowed to slits. “Killing me won’t help you get any information on the King’s whereabouts.”

“I don’t care about Crowley.” His voice was flat, lifeless. He hadn’t felt anything in months. Not when they took him out of the intensive ward and he escaped with a bag full of morphine and other prescription painkillers, not when he found a nest of vampires and charged in with nothing but a machete and no will to live, not when he was sewing up his wounds surrounded by their severed heads. 

“Then what do you want?” It was bargaining now, a poor attempt. It wasn’t a crossroads demon, they might have recognized him, and it had no leverage.

“Do you know where Dean is?” He asked, stepping closer as the demon stumbled back, pressing it’s cowardly spine against the invisible wall of the trap. He reached in with the knife and it froze, glaring at him but completely still as he dragged the tip lightly around it’s jaw.

“Where is he?” He whispered, pressing harder against the stolen skin, leaving patterns of angry red lines passing through pubescent stubble and acne.

“Dead. Or haven’t you heard?” It said, the movement jarring the knife’s path and drawing tiny beads of blood, there was a sizzle as the two met and the demon winced.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He tssked as he swiped away the gathering blood. “Let’s try again. Where is Dean? Is he in Hell?”

To be perfectly honest he wasn’t expecting it’s answer.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” It said, grinding its teeth as Sam pressed the knife even further, dropping it under its chin to the soft slopes of the neck. “Dean Winchester isn’t in any part of Hell we know of. But as far as I know, he’s not in Heaven either.” 

“Then where. Is. He?” He punctuated each word with a small cut along its throat, a bloody barcode going down to its collarbones.

“I don’t know,” It sputtered, eyes flickering between Sam’s expressionless face and the knife in his hands. “Just kill me.”

“No.” Sam said, quieter than ever as he leaned forward even farther, until their breath was mingling, warm and wet. “You’re going to suffer, and then I am going to get my brother.”

It’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“It won’t work! I already told you! He isn’t in Hell. Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. You’ll just destroy yourself.”

_ “He’s right you know. ‘Course I’m not surprised. You always were quick to fly down a dark path Sammy. Go ahead, damn your soul. It’ll be so entertaining.” _

“I don’t care.” He said. Maybe to the demon, maybe to Lucifer, maybe to himself or the world. He would torture himself for all eternity if it meant that Dean came back. 

He ignored the demon’s screams as he pulled out the empty gallon jug, dragged out of a long forgotten closet in some no-name safe house, ignored the way the now brown eyes rolled into the back of it’s head as he slit its throat in a single, decisive swipe, the way the voice gurgled into silence and the way the body slumped into his arms, so light and fragile.

When he was done he let the empty vessel drop in a wretched heap on the hay and dirt and blood covered floor. He wiped off the blade on the hem of his shirt and grabbed the corpse by its bony arms, dragging it behind a wooden wall that had been shrouded by darkness. 

He dumped it with the other bodies, men and women and a girl no older than 9, piled on top of each other like deformed candles too sick to be lit, bloodless, drooping skin folding together until you couldn’t tell where one started and the other began.

He tossed the can of salt over the mound like he was tossing rice at a wedding, white sand sticking to still damp flesh. Then he drenched them in thick, honey-like gasoline. The smell of it filled the space and leaked out of the cracks and holes of the building, bleeding evidence of his sin into the cool breezes of night air.

The fire ate up flesh and bone faster than any ravenous werewolf or wraith, spreading with a cackling fervor as it found the dry hay and crumbling floorboards. Sam stood back and let the heat wash over his face, reveling in the spots that obscured his vision as the fire grew in brightness and intensity. 

He would give them the hunter’s funeral Dean never got.

\---------------------

“I need a spell.”

“Absolutely not!” The witch cried, slamming the door shut almost as soon as she opened it. Sam wasn’t asking. Before she could enchant it, he kicked the door down and stepped inside.

It was a modest apartment for a witch, with not much more than a pull-out couch and T.V. Anyone else walking in would’ve assumed it was completely normal, but Sam spotted the bronze bowls hidden in the kitchenette tupperware, the worn leather spines of spell books peaking between modern self-help novels and dollar store paperback romance.

She was definitely a witch, but from what he heard along the supernatural grapevine she was more similar to Pamela than the powerful but petty murderers he had stopped in the past.

_ “Oh, Pamela! I remember her. You killed her too… looking back you really don’t have a good track record buddy.” _

The witch was cowering in the far corner, the backs of her knees pressed against the cream cover of her couch, eyes sharp as daggers as she glared at him.

“I can’t do anything for you.” She spat as he drew near. “I don’t practice that kind of magic, I have no dealings with demons.”

“That’s exactly why I came to you Amelia.”

It might have been the calm tone of his voice, or the fact that he had stopped moving forward, but she relaxed slightly, though she was still glaring at him.

“What could you possibly want? I’ve heard you’ve been killing demons but no one seems to know why.”

_ “Little baby Sammy has been doing very bad things…” _

“I’m hunting the King of Hell.” He lied easily. He could care less about Crowley, the lying cheating bastard that he was. He just wanted Dean, but he couldn’t trust the intel he had gotten. He had to make sure for himself.

“I need you to get me into Hell.”

“I have no way to do that,” she said. “And even if I did, what makes you think I’d help you?”

In one fluid movement Sam pulled the pearl-handled pistol from the waistband of his jeans. He flicked off the safety and leveled the barrel at her head, right between her eyes.

“Because you don’t want to die.”

The witch gulped, eyes wide and fixed on his face, like she was refusing to look at the weapon in his hand. Her voice was quiet and carefully controlled when she spoke.

“You don’t do that. Sam, I’ve heard of you before. You’re a good hunter, you don’t kill innocent people. I haven’t hurt anyone, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Lucifer laughed, disembodied behind him.  _ “Imagine, thinking of you as good. You’d think everyone would’ve heard of how truly demented you really are by now.” _

His finger stroked the soft curve of the trigger, empty and mindless. 

“I don’t care.”

Her breath came in strangled gasps as he pulled the trigger, twitching the barrel off to the right at the last second, the bullet rushing past her hair and embedding into the wall.

“I know you have a book, the one with the spell I need.”

Her chest heaved as she turned to look at the damaged wall and back at him, his expression cold and his voice deadly calm. His posture hadn’t changed from when he had entered the apartment to now, a casual, uncaring stance that screamed  _ dangerous _ .

“Ok, OK!” She screamed as he cocked the gun again, aim perfect. “I can help you. The book you need is the ‘Führer zu verfluchten Seelen’. It can get you into Hell.”

He lowered the gun slowly, but he did not turn the safety back on.

“Go on,” he said, motioning with his free hand.

“The book can show you how to travel to Hell while alive, but it is extraordinarily dangerous. The ingredients alone… even if you were to manage it you’d most likely be captured and tortured for eternity.”

“I’ll be fine, I can handle demons now. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Sam,” she pleaded, stepping forward. “Don’t do this. You’ll either suffer forever, or turn into something you’re not. This isn’t what your brother would want.”

He was on top of her in less than two steps, one hand around her throat and the other pressing his pistol into her side, just below her ribs. For the first time since she had met him, his voice shifted from the still monotone to a deadly hiss, his words acid as he leaned in close to her ear to whisper.

“You. Know.  _ Nothing _ .” He snarled. “Without him I am nothing, the world is nothing. He’s not here to care what I do anymore.” He pressed the pistol in farther, until it was digging into her skin through her shirt. “I am going to slaughter them, you understand? I’m going to kill every. Last. One. And then I am going to find my brother, and I am going to bring him back.” 

He loosened his grip on her throat, but kept the gun in place. She just stared up at him in terror and pity.

“What if he’s not there?” She asked, and the question hung like a noose between them. 

Sam didn’t care. He would do whatever it took, anything he could. Maybe he had learned from last time, maybe he hadn’t at all. All he knew was that he needed his brother.

“Get the book.”

\---------------------

“Please… don’t” She pleaded one last time, but he was beyond reasoning with. He lifted the last gallon jug to his lips, two more lay drained and crushed behind him. He entered Hell with a unhinged grin on his face, mouth smeared with blood.

The demons shrunk back before him. Maybe out of fear, or respect, or loathing. He didn’t much care which it was. Those who got too close were quickly dispatched. He used the knife when they charged, the blood when they came slowly. After the first few minutes, most came slowly, hoping to catch him off guard. They never did.

He stalked through the decaying halls, past the rusted and blood soaked bars where the arms of inconsequential souls reached out for him, begging, sobbing, pleading for mercy or simply speaking nonsense. He ignored them all. Only one soul mattered.

They tried to cut him off at the throne room, and for a moment his hopes arose. He cut the abominations down to ashes and burst through the doors only to find an empty chair. He destroyed everything in that room with a wave of his hand. He only wished after that he had beaten everything with his bare fists.

Dean wasn’t in Hell. And Sam had no clue where he really was.

Amelia recalled him with the book, and he appeared in that oh so normal apartment, covered in blood and soot and tears. She stood beside him as he sobbed into her carpet, holding that useless book and waving away the last vestiges of smoke from the spell, her expression a shroud of condolence. Silently, he cursed her.

_ “You’re a sham. A damn failure. You have no one to blame but yourself Sam. You’re a monster and you know it.” _ Lucifer cooed in his ear, ever-present voice echoing his own thoughts.

_ “Everyone’s left you but me, and you didn’t even come visit while you were down there.” _

“Sam.” She said, after a few minutes of silence, the Winchester still crouched and trembling on her floor. “Sam you need to stop.”

“I can’t, I need to find him.”

“How? In a few hours you’ll be going through withdrawal. You don’t have any options anymore, there’s nothing you can do.”

He stood as fast as he was able to, scrambling onto his feet. He kicked the bowl that sat in front of her to the side so hard it left a dent in the wall, spilling the contents of the spell she had used to bring him back.

“THE HELL THERE’S NOT!” He screamed in her face, body convulsing with rage or the lack of demon blood, he wasn’t sure. He just had to find where Dean was, then he could bring him back. He only needed to find him.

But his body betrayed him, and he sagged against the wall, strength sapping away. He had done this to himself, and he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

Amelia’s voice was soft as she approached him, careful, like she was taming a wild animal, but still quivering from fear from when he had bellowed at her.

“Sam, you need to get somewhere safe to detox. I have a room I can set up, some spells for your protection.”

“I don’t need your help,” he murmured, even as he dropped to his knees, head lolling onto his shoulders. She stepped closer, but before he could tell her to back off, his vision faded to black and he lapsed into unconsciousness. 

\---------------------

Sam sat in a puddle of water and shattered glass, glaring up at Amelia even as warm blood slowly seeped from his thighs, turning light pink as it diluted and flowed away from him.

“Goddammit,” she muttered, putting what was meant to be Sam’s lunch aside to try and clean up the mess. He hissed as she came close, wrists tugging against the padded handcuff, already rubbed raw.

“I don’t need your help,  _ witch _ .”

“Yeah well I’m not doing this just for you. It’s about my safety and the safety of others too. And don’t you dare tell me you’re fine. You spent most of yesterday thrashing about on the ceiling until I managed to get you down.”

He didn’t have a coherent response, so he spit on the back of her hand as she brushed away the glass from around him.

“You know I’d kill you if you weren’t hurting enough as it is.” She said, wiping the hand on her shirt.

_ “ _ _ Which side are you on boys? Which side are you on? Which side are you on boys? Which side are you on?” _ Lucifer hummed. He had been on a Pete Seeger marathon for the last day or so, but Sam couldn’t remember exactly. The hallucination was sitting on the long-abandoned cot in the corner wearing the body of Nick, or at least he appeared to be. Sam never trusted his reality much anymore.

He ignored the vision, praying that when he was clean his constant companion would be reduced to just a nagging voice again, like when Castiel ‘healed’ him in the first place. Instead he just looked at the wall, eyes refusing to focus on either the woman in front of him or the imaginary man at his side. Why couldn’t he ever just be alone? 

_ “They say in Harlan County, there are no neutrals there. You'll either be a union man, or a thug for J. H. Blair.” _ Was the only response he got, Lucifer’s voice high and nasally, unnaturally echoing around the room so he heard it more than once. Unable to control his annoyance at this, Sam glared at him.

Lucifer just grinned as their eyes met.  _ “ _ _ Which side are you on boys? Which side are you on?” _

“Stop glaring at the air and eat your food.”

“I’m not hungry” He said, turning back to face her as Satan laughed.

“Sure. You haven’t eaten in three days but you’re not hungry. Well I don’t care how you feel, I’m not going to dig up my herb garden to bury a body. Eat your damn sandwich.” She said, picking the aforementioned food item off the tray and tossing it into his lap. He made no move to grab it.

“Sam I swear to whatever power exists in this universe that if you don’t eat that sandwich I’ll shut the heaters off and let you sit down here and freeze.”

At her threat, he reluctantly picked it up and took a small bite. He supposed it was ham and cheese, but he couldn’t really taste anything, like his taste buds were blown out. But he hated the cold, and he knew Lucifer would jump on any opportunity to remind him of all the things he could do with it.

_ “My daddy was a miner, and I'm a miner's son. He'll be with you fellow workers, until this battle's won.” _ He sang, and Sam could hear ice pop and crackle from the corner, just out of his vision. Memories of slowly being frozen alive, watching as Satan broke off fingers and toes and then his foot, his nose…  _ “Oh workers can you stand it? Oh tell me how you can, will you be a lousy scab or will you be a man?” _

He took another bite of the sandwich and wished she had thought to heat it up.

“See? Not so bad is it?” 

He said nothing. 

“Alright well I’d be lying if I said I didn’t prefer the silent treatment over your incessant screaming. I’ll be back in a few hours, and all that food better be finished.”

She left with a flourish, the long skirt she was wearing almost catching in the door as it slammed shut behind her. He sat still on the floor, watching as the dim light caught on the pieces of glass she had missed. He wished she had given him more water, even after his outburst.

_ “ _ _ Which side are you on boys? Which side are you on?” _ The noise of a fan could be heard beating along to the song, but he couldn’t see where it came from. He refused to look. _ “Which side are you on boys? Which side are you on?” _

\---------------------

_ “I see you’re having some issues. Maybe a song might help!” _

Sam cursed. He was up to the last button on his shirt but his fingers had started trembling again and he just couldn’t get it to slide into place. The small piece of plastic slipped out of his grasp just before he got it through the opening.

_ “Children put your coats on, your coats on, your coats on. Children put your coats on, one, two, three!” _

With a frustrated yell, both at the buttons and Lucifer, he ripped it back open, the last fifteen minutes of work scattering across the floor in a satisfying clatter. He was already wearing a t-shirt, that would have to be enough. 

_ “ _ _ Children are now dressed, are dressed, are dressed. Children are now dressed, lets go out to play!” _

Shrugging on a thick coat, he headed down the stairs. He was leaving today.

“Sam,” Amelia said as she saw him stalk toward the tiny kitchen, “You shouldn’t be up, you only left the safe room yesterday!”

“I’m leaving.”

“Excuse me?” She gasped, dropping the spatula she had been using to stir a pot and spinning around to face him, expression outraged. “You’re just  _ leaving _ ? After I help you ravage Hell and then look after you for over a month? You’re not out of it yet Sam, you’re still experiencing symptoms if you just let me…”

“No. I need to find Dean.”

She gave a strangled shout, tugging at her hair. “You idiot! All you’re going to do is destroy yourself, or worse, the world! Look at what you’ve already done, and for what? It’s just… more blood on your hands. I might not have known Dean Winchester in life, but I cannot imagine anyone who would want this.”

“You’re right, you don’t know Dean.” He said, spotting the bag he had first come to the apartment with and slinging it over his shoulder. “And you don’t know me. I’m not going to stop until I find him.”

“And what if he’s in Heaven, huh? What then? What if he is happy, Sam? What if you find him and he doesn’t want to come back?”

_ “I like her, she asks the right questions,” _ Satan giggled from the void.

“Enough.” He said, voice cold enough to freeze Hell itself. “I don’t need you and I never have. I’m leaving. You’ll never see me again.”

She stepped forward as if to stop him, but he just glared at her until she backed off. He might not have been fully recovered, but he wasn’t going to be fainting anytime soon. He had almost a foot and a hundred pounds on her and she wouldn’t dare use a spell. 

He ignored the piteous expression on her face as he left, stomping down the driveway of that too small, too normal apartment where he had been wasting time that he could’ve spent finding Dean. Dean who was suffering, Dean who was in pain and who  _ needed  _ him. 

_ “Too bad he’s not down here with me. I could teach him some of the things that I loved to do with you Sammy. I wonder if his screams are as delicious as yours…” _

The Impala was still parked in the driveway, and he still had her keys. He didn’t look back as he drove off into the darkening city of Kermit, Texas. His mind was preoccupied trying to calculate his next move, the other places Dean could’ve gone. With a mild start, it came to him.

Dean and Cas disappeared with Dick when they killed him. Monsters who were killed only went to one place. He found the nearest interstate on-ramp and pressed on the gas. He knew who he had to see next.

The car was silent as the dead as he drove, wind blowing past into nothingness, quiet air grieving. 

\---------------------

Sam grunted as he was thrown to the floor, knees pressed against the thin but lavish carpet. The two burly vampires that had tossed him stood straight and still, guard towers on either side of him. He knew not to try and speak or move from his current position, the swelling on his right eye a constant reminder of where he was and what he was trying to do.

It was a few minutes before the intricately carved door in front of him slowly swung open, the heavy wood barely creaking on well-oiled hinges. In the doorway stood a young woman in a slim black suit, she gestured at Sam and the vampires, and they pulled him back up off the ground. He did his best to remain on his feet, but the fast pace of their walk and the way they tugged on his arms kept him from being able to walk normally, instead stumbling along the narrow hallways and cavernous rooms of the mansion.

They reached another door, somehow even bigger than the last, and with a wave of the young woman’s hand, the vampires let go of him and faded into the shadows. Sam stood straight and rolled his shoulders back, trying to ready himself and relax muscles that had been worn stiff by the poor treatment.

The woman smiled, either unimpressed or amused by his discomfort.

“You’ve taken a big risk here, Sam.” She said, voice haunted by the vestiges of some forgotten European accent. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and looked him up and down. It was probably a sight to see. He had been wearing almost the same clothes for a month, the showers he had taken being quick and cold. He had dark bags underneath sunken eyes and patchy stubble coated his chin and neck.

“Yeah, well.” Was all he muttered in response to her dissatisfied stare. 

“In many cultures it is considered quite rude to dress as you have when in an audience with power such as his.”

“Sorry I forgot my tux, I’ll be sure to pack formal next time I trek across the country.”

She scoffed through her nose and rolled her eyes, delicate arms crossed in front of her.

“If I had my way my father would never see you, loathsome and disrespectful as you are. It is a tribute to his unending mercy and compassion that he even let you into this house.”

“Yeah, I guess I owe big bad vamp daddy for his exceptional kindness. I especially liked the part where I was hog tied and thrown in a trunk.”

A set of needle-like fangs extended as she curled her lips back in a snarl.

“Show some respect or I’ll drain you dry, you repugnant blood-slut.” She hissed, stepping forward so she was just beneath his face. “Stop acting so high and mighty, we know what you’ve been up to.” 

He let out his breath in a huff as she went back to where she had been standing, straightening her blazer with a sharp tug to the bottom hem. 

“Tell me, ratbag, if Hell didn’t give you answers, are you here to start drinking monsters as well?”

Before he could retort, another over-muscled vampire opened the massive door. A bored voice echoed through the hall over Sam’s heavy breathing.

“Easy now Veronica, bring in our guest would you?”

She grabbed Sam by the collar of his jacket and shoved him past the threatening doorman into the biggest room he had ever seen. The ceiling towered above him, held up by countless arches disappearing into the peak of the transept. Stained glass windows shed tinted light from high above them, deep reds and pale yellows leaving more in shadow than Sam would’ve liked. The corners were almost completely shrouded in inky blackness.

Sitting in a high backed chair made out of what he assumed was the same expensive wood as the doors, was the alpha vampire. 

He smirked casually as Sam was thrown on the floor again, this time without carpet to even slightly lessen the damage to his knees. He groaned as the woman, Veronica he assumed, walked over to the base of the pulpit.

“Sam,” the alpha murmured, voice soft but deep, resounding around the room. “My children tell me that you searched me out for an audience. Why?”

Sam pushed himself upright so he was sitting on his heels instead of laying on the floor. He had to strain his eyes upwards to see the vampire on his throne.

“I need help getting into Purgatory.”

The alpha sighed.

“Why is it always ‘get me into Purgatory’, and ‘open the door for us’,” He leaned forward so a sliver of colored light cut across his face. “It isn’t the most pleasant place, I cannot begin to comprehend why you all are so desperate to know it.”

From the side and just below the alpha, he heard Veronica giggle. He chose to ignore it.

“Please, I know you have no reason to help me, or even trust me,” Sam pleaded, hating having been reduced to begging on his knees, but having run out of options. “But I need my brother back.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back once again. “I assumed as much. You know we’ve been keeping an eye on you, especially after your angel released all those Leviathans. I had wondered when you would come to me to help clean up your mess.”

“I just want information.”

“I know what you want.”

“Then help me.”

“And what then?” He said, standing and beginning to descend down the pulpit towards Sam. Veronica followed behind him like a lost puppy. “Your acts of desperation have led to incomprehensible damage, and yet here you are, still trying.”

“I just… need to save Dean.”

“And just how much are you willing to sacrifice to achieve your goal?”

There was a heavy pause.

“Everything.” He said as the alpha crouched in front of him, so that they were face to face. “I would give anything.”

The alpha smiled and stood, looking down on Sam.

“Well you have already given much, haven’t you?” Sam stared down at the floor as the vampire walked around him. “We know you are more than willing to destroy yourself, and your humanity, but what about the lives of others?”

Their eyes met for a brief moment before Sam looked back down.

“It may have been an easy task for you to kill all of those demons in Hell, but I am warning you, the help I have to give requires blood of a more innocent kind. Are you ready to take their lives as well?”

There was a beat of silence where it felt as if the very shadows were holding their breath. When Sam spoke, his whisper barely broke the heavy quiet.

“Yes.”

The vampire nodded, turning on his heel and walking back up to his throne. As he did so, Veronica came closer, and out of the corner of his eye Sam saw more vampires appear out of the darkness. They were all promising smiles, hooded eyes and blood-stained shirts and as more and more materialized out of nothing, he wondered if the walls were made of the dark figures.

“Veronica will show you where you’ll be staying for now.”

“Wait!” He tried to yell, but as suddenly as the vampires had appeared, the sunlight shining into the room shifted and darkened, so that he could see no farther than a foot in front of him. And then Veronica was there, smirking down at him.

“Come with me demon whore, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

Once more he was dragged to his feet, arms stretched awkwardly behind his back, almost to the point that they popped out of their sockets. He was sure they wouldn’t care if they did dislocate, first aid probably wasn’t a monster’s first priority. 

They left the massive room behind them, and walked through even more hallways, ones Sam hadn’t even seen before. Disturbing paintings lined the walls, old and bloody portraits of grinning vampires and ruinous landscapes filled with fire and torment.

“Does daddy like to play Art Collector?” He managed to quip as she dragged him around yet another corner. 

“Keep talking and I’ll rip out your vocal cords, just on principle.” 

It was nearly impossible to keep track of where he was going and how to get back, so he just groaned as she pulled him along, the speed close to a run. Soon they reached the end of a hallway and instead of turning the corner, she spun him around so he was facing to the right. There was another door there, it wasn’t huge or detailed, but on it’s surface it had a large black number 43. 

Veronica opened it and shoved him inside. The room was small, dark and musty, but otherwise completely normal. There was more thin carpet and in the corner there was a small bed with two pillows.

“Why am I here again?” He asked before she closed the door behind him.

She paused, the door open only a few inches.

“Because he needs you to be completely dry before we can try the spell.”

“Wait, no,” Sam said, stepping forward and starting to panic. “That was never part of the deal!”

“Well a junkie’s problem is of his own making, forgive me if I feel no pity for you.”

“You don’t understand, I need it!”

“No,  _ I _ need it. To survive. You drink it for what, power? Sanity?”

“Please… I can’t do this without it.”

She only scoffed and slammed the door in his face. He heard the lock turn from the outside, and he beat his fist against the wood.

“Hey! Let me out of here!”

“You’ll just have to suck it up leech,” She yelled back at him. “Ask yourself, would you rather be Satan free or have your brother back?”

He had nothing to say, so he just slumped against the door, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He heard her footsteps retreating and let his head fall into his hands. It was going to be a long night.

\---------------------

It was many days before Veronica came back for him. For most of that time he tried to sleep. Though every night brought torture, at least he knew he was dreaming. Lucifer’s voice when he was awake made him want to scream, to rip his hair out, to break down the door and find the nearest demon just to get him to  _ shut up _ .

_ “Not the nicest sentiment Sammy. Of course, then you aren’t the nicest guy are you?” _

“Get up batty — and stop pulling your hair out would you? — he’s ready to begin.” The vampire said, wearing the same crisp suit he had last seen her in. He wondered if they ever showered, though of course he wasn’t one to talk.

Sam glared up at her from where he was sitting on the bed, though he untwined his fingers from his hair.

“I’ve never told you how much I truly hate you, have I?” He asked as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Now, wouldn’t that be a surprise.”

_ “Mmm, I like this one. You two would be good together. Just a couple of self-hating bloodsuckers against the world. Too bad you and her could never have what we have Sam…” _

“Come on now, don’t fight me. My father is going to help you, you imbecile.” 

Reluctantly, Sam stood straight and walked out with her, ripping his arm from her grasp as soon as they were out of the room. She glared at him.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing his now sore skin. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll follow you. I just don’t want to be sprinting down the halls this time.”

_ “I’m excited, what about you? Can’t wait to see what horrible ritual this ‘King of the Night’ has prepared for you to feel guilty about doing. Do you feel guilty? Maybe you just shut it off. Remember when we used to play that little game… what did we call it?” _

“Let’s just get moving,” he said to her stern expression, skin beginning to crawl at Lucifer’s words. Mostly his dreams were of the physical tortures. When Lucifer made him flay himself, fire consuming him one layer at a time, the steady drip of acid onto his eyes… all vivid memories of pain that he could never forget. But what he truly feared, were the games.

Ones where Lucifer put him in alternate realities, made him do things, messed with his head to the point that he almost completely lost himself. It was why the falling of the wall nearly killed him, he didn’t know what was real.

He practically shoved Veronica down the hall when she gave him a weird look, and the two got on their way. Though he knew it wouldn’t do anything, he pressed his thumb into his palm, digging in with the nail.

_ “Oh yes, I liked to call it ‘Barely Human’. Such a fun little game. Remember when we borrowed Adam from Michael for a bit? You’d slice into him and I’d ask you if you felt guilty, if you felt remorse. You knew what the right answer was every time, didn’t you? What  _ **_does_ ** _ it mean to be human? Are you sure you know anymore?” _

“So will I be able to go back on blood after this?” He asked, shaking out his hands to try and distract himself. He could feel his body begin to try and hyperventilate, panic slowly seeping out as his mind attached images and feelings to Lucifer’s words.

Veronica didn’t turn around, but he could almost see the eye roll.

“I don’t know. My father has kept the details of this little experiment quite close to heart, all I know is that you are supposed to be completely clean before we begin.” She paused then, turning with a small smile. “It’s pathetic really. Even fresh vampires aren’t this desperate. I wonder if you even know what it’s like to be human anymore. Hm, pity.” With that she flicked her hair and turned forward, continuing her brisk pace down the hallway.

Sam pushed on after her, hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried to ignore the loud laughter that seemed to bounce off every surface; Lucifer cackling in his head.

They were back at the cavernous room, though now it was significantly brighter than it had been the last time, and appeared to be empty. He assumed it was because of all the sunlight that streamed in from the high windows. Some distant part of him wondered if all the vampires he had seen actually slept somewhere in this house.

_ “What, wondering if they’re comfortable? How sweet. Or maybe, maybe you’re wondering if he’ll let you stay. Want to be a vampire Sam? Pros: You probably wouldn’t have that much culture shock, Cons: what would Dean say? Oh right, he’s dead. Good news for you, buddy.” _

Veronica led him around the pulpit this time, and after he had passed it he could see a small door that he hadn’t seen before. It was set far back into the wall

She opened the door and stepped to the side, motioning him forward. He couldn’t make out the room, but somewhere in its depths he could see the small, flickering lights of candles. The air was tense and his eyes darted to Veronica’s face before he crossed the threshold. Her expression showed nothing.

After a few steps he was completely immersed in the darkness of the room.

\---------------------

  
  


“Well, well. Welcome back Sam,” came the voice he had learned to loathe. “This must mean we are ready to begin.”

His eyes adjusted slowly to the low light, blinking every second or so like the shadows of the room were some physical object that had gotten caught in his eyelashes. The alpha was there alright, standing in the middle of a circle of bodies. Each was strung up by their wrists, but strung was probably too good a word for it. Every one of them, and there were many, had been connected to a chain in the ceiling by some sort of bear trap clamped around their wrist. Blood seemed to seep from every nook and cranny of the room, and every inch of the stone floor was sticky with it.

_ “I like the thought process here, quite violent. Though I could do so much more with the right reality. Bear traps on the wrists would be nothing compared to when I get them around your large intestine.” _

“What’s this?” He dared to ask, aware of Veronica behind him and the alpha in front. The vampire’s solemn face was lit from below by candles, their unsteady flames making it look like he was shifting from side to side.

“There might be a way to open a portal of sorts. A door into Purgatory.”

“And how would that even be possible?” Sam asked, trying not to look at the bodies, and even more so trying not to think about the blood he could almost feel pooling beneath his feet.

_ “Blood, blood, blood. Always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” _

“To understand the spell, you must first understand what we are dealing with. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, these are not places you can get to by car or airplane. They are different realms, or if you prefer, alternate planes of existence.” As the alpha spoke, Veronica pushed Sam forward, through the dangling limbs until he joined the vampire in the circle. 

“Contrary to popular belief however, they are not connected. Each is as different from one another as they are all different from Earth. Hell is least protected, at least by means of the Veil. Demons usually stop anyone foolish enough to attempt a journey down there, but the spellwork is relatively easy.” Sam ignored Veronica’s pointed look when he mentioned Hell. “Heaven, however, is much more difficult. People want to go there, but it is hardly equipped to handle living souls. So, not only is it guarded by self-righteous angels, but it is also protected by a much stronger Veil. No ordinary witch could penetrate it, not without help.”

The alpha picked up a knife, it was already a sickly shade of red. Without even a hint of emotion, he pressed the tip of the blade against the chest of the nearest body, and Sam started when it shuddered. Everyone who was hung up, was still alive. The alpha continued casually as he carved unknown symbols into the person’s skin.

_ “Oh remember the things I would carve into you Sam? The patterns I would make as I flayed you to the bone, one layer at a time…” _

“Purgatory though, well it’s a different beast entirely, if you’ll forgive my pun.” Behind him, Veronica giggled. “What you call God, well, He made it to be completely self-sufficient. There is nothing to guard it, no angels or demons, and there is everything to contain. Or at least, there was.” He drew the knife back, and the body slumped. Sam could no longer hear any breathing but his own.

“It could only be opened during a full eclipse, with a spell concocted of virgin and monster blood, and not just any monster, one who had spent time there, which, as you may know, is quite hard to come by.” He gestured at Sam with the knife. “Your angel got quite lucky with that woman. She was the first I had heard of anything or anyone escaping.”

“But wait,” Sam interrupted, brain swirling with the new information and endless questions. “If the only way to open it was with her blood, how did she get out?”

“Well,” he said, voice even as he wiped the knife onto an already soaked cloth, “that was the very question I found myself asking.” He set it down on what looked like a metal table, and took a few steps toward Sam. “How in the world did a novel writer and group of crazed conspiracy theorists find a way to open that door?” He threw his arms wide, showing off the entirety of the twisted scene that filled the room, face breaking into a smile.

“This. A blood sacrifice like no other.” He started to walk the edge of the circle, tracing the cuts on each body with a finger. “Twelve virgins, bled out in the middle of the day. These are them. Then, twelve monsters, bled out under the full moon. I have my volunteers for tonight.”

“Then, what did you need me for?” 

“Oh Sam, you play a very important role. I also need the blood of someone who has been to Hell, and if I’m correct, you fit the bill quite nicely.” Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Sam heard Lucifer cackle. “That, and the feather of an angel, and we have our spell.”

“All that, to do what? Open a door? How do I get Dean?” He asked, stepping back as the alpha came all the way around, back to him.

“Oh, that’s the fun part. By opening the door without an anchor, the portal will just drag out the closest monster. However, connecting you to the spell will ensure that it is Dean that comes through. It should work well, considering human souls aren’t meant to be there in the first place. If we do our parts correctly, the portal should stay open until your brother comes through, and then close up behind him. But,” He said, straightening the tie of the suit he was wearing and pushing aside a body as if to leave. “For now, I need you to finish up here. Make sure they’re all empty. Veronica will help dispose of the waste, and then tonight you and I can finish this.”

Before Sam could say anything else, the alpha had disappeared through the circle of bloody bodies, and he was left alone with Veronica.

“Well!” She said, clapping her hands together and making Sam jump, “Let’s get this done shall we? Looks like some of these sorry saps still have a few veins that haven’t been tapped. You know how to find a vein, don’t you?”

_ “Don’t you, Sammy?” _

He could feel Lucifer’s chill on the base of his skull, like the breath of a ghost making his hair stand on end. It wasn’t a feeling he would be able to describe to anyone else, even Dean. It was the feeling of the Devil watching over him, looking over his shoulder, reaching frosted hands deep into his soul until he forgot the sensation of warmth. It was this quiet, tempting voice in the back of his mind that led his sanity, his humanity away. Took it someplace safe, where it could hide from the true him. The corrupted, cold, emotionless vacuum that had been all that was left. That was what he wanted right now, what he needed to get this done and get his brother back. He found that gate in his heart, and threw it wide open, the darkness it had been keeping at bay swallowing him whole. It might’ve been Yellow Eyes, or Ruby, or Lucifer that had created it, but now it was him.

“Give me the knife.”

\---------------------

“You know,” Veronica said as she finished filling up the second chalice from his wrist. “This would’ve been a lot more fun for me if we could’ve just bled you out completely like we did with the rest of them.”

“Silence, my child.” Said the alpha from where he stood a few feet away from them. “You know he is needed as the anchor.” Veronica scoffed before bringing him the cup she held.

They were in an empty field, surrounded by vampires and all glowing with the full moon’s ghastly light. It was a scene straight out of a horror novel, except for the centerpiece. Sam didn’t know who’s clever idea it was to use an inflatable above-ground pool as the container for 24 bodies worth of blood, but it kind of ruined the whole ‘Monsters doing a blood spell under the full moon to open a portal to Purgatory’ vibe. 

The alpha gently tipped the cup of Sam’s blood into the mixture, then gestured at the shadows that lined the edge of the field. Two burly vampires dragging what appeared to be the body of a young woman, her clothes torn and dirt stained, and her skin streaked with dry blood.

“Who is that?” Sam asked as he watched the woman get thrown before the alpha, landing on her knees. She was clearly alive and conscious, if injured.

“As powerful as I am,” said the alpha, tilting her head up with a single finger under her chin, “I cannot perform this kind of magic. We needed a witch. I was certain you’d be fine with any method I chose to get one.”

“I’m fine, I was just confused for a moment.”

The alpha smiled at him before lifting the witch to her feet by her arm. The pop of her shoulder dislocating echoed ominously, and the volume of her broken cry was like cold water compared to the whispered conversation between Sam and the vampires. He could feel something twinge deep within him, behind the empty, and he closed his eyes against it as she continued to scream.

“Please! I can’t do this, you can’t do this!”

“Shhh,” the alpha said, putting one clawed finger over her lips to silence her. “Now now, you know what will happen if you don’t. Who would you rather save? Yourself? Or that sweet little girl of yours?”

He dropped his finger and she dropped her head in defeat. He led her over to the side of the pool, and whimpering, she lifted her one good arm over it’s viscous surface. The alpha beckoned to Sam, and he left Veronica to walk over to them.

As the moon reached its apex in the sky, Sam crawled into the pool. He recoiled as he felt the blood flow over his ankles, then his knees, then his torso and his arms until it was lapping just beneath his chin. The witch began to chant, her voice warbling but her words sure. Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was hot, sticky, and sick. The moonlight was beating down on his face like a silver sun, burning him. He could almost feel his exposed skin pucker and peel. Despite this, as the ceremony continued, he started to shiver.

The chanting raised in volume, and Sam wanted to scream. The feeling was like being burned alive and frozen at the same time. The blood seemed to coat every inch of his skin, every strand of his hair, dissolving into him like a million microscopic worms sliding into his pores and wriggling towards his heart.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Sam jumped out of the pool of blood and landed on the ground in a heap. He panted and trembled, smearing the dewy blades of grass a vivid red. There was a thud, and he turned his head just in time to see the witch they had been using drop next to him, her throat slit. All he could smell was blood.

“We’re done here. The portal is open.”

It was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

\---------------------

_ Someone was screaming. _

_ It was a twisted, broken, hacking sound that bounced off of every surface and scratched the inner surface of his skull. It pulsed through him in waves of tortuous noise, cracking his ribs, boiling his blood. He was open, every nerve raw and exposed and dangling from his corpse like loose threads falling from an old ribbon. He was in ribbons. Skin and sinew and bone that was no longer bone, just pieces of clouded, shattered glass.  _

_ Something pressed, and he tried to breathe. His lungs exploded with a wet pop. Lucifer stood over him with a nail, grinning. He was wearing a party hat. It was striped with green and purple and decorated with little stars. Sam was the balloon, the piñata. He gurgled as Lucifer grabbed his hips. Pulling, tearing, pain. There were streamers falling around them, and they looked like squirming intestines, or giant mutated eels that had learned to fly. They jerked and screeched above him as his pelvis was ripped from his spine. Distantly, he saw his legs kicking.  _

_ Someone was laughing. _

_ There was fire, freezing fire. He tried to shut his eyes against a light that was so blinding, so white and so loud, but too late he realized that his eyelids were already gone. Arms came for him. Disembodied, skinless, emancipated things that moved along his body. They forced the skin back together, pressed and clamped and stroked at him until he was smooth. Down, down, deep inside him they reached, pressing on his soul. They were fire, so so cold. They brushed against his nerves and there was nothing but chilling pleasure, a piercing need that welled in the back of his almost-throat. It was bile. Toxic, alive. _

_ He was whole and he was empty. There was no breath in his chest, no thumping heartbeat or pulse to find, nothing. He stood where he was told. He always did what he was told. There was no space here, no time, no light, no dark. Only Him. He was streaked with something. Grace or blood. He was burnt and he was gone. But he would not move. Because there was  _ **_Here_ ** _ here. He needed the Here. Needed it like he had once needed air or food or water. He needed to feel, to be pulled apart, to be thrown open so he could make space real. _

_ “I’m Here.” _

_ And He was. And His face was space and time and light and dark and pain. Zachariah had once tried to describe an angel’s face. But it was not something a human mind could picture. Not one on Earth. It was everything and nothing, and it filled his empty, lashed through him in the desperate, dying throes of humanity. Grace was such a small word, so blank and useless. There were no walls in the cage, not really. And yet, everything was full of Him.  _

_ “Don’t leave me.” _

_ He did not. _

_ There was music in Hell. A sort of tinkling shout that went on and on. It was almost like elevator music to him now. The constant high-pitched rumble was easy to ignore, but it was never unappreciated. It was Here, and he needed Here. There was a body between his fingers. Rough and soft, it trembled beneath him. He did not care what it did. He was Here, and it was There. He took his blade and he spread the body open, scraped it like butter across toast. Flames licked from under it but they were not His flames and Sam did not know heat anymore. Burning red embers were nothing but winded gasps against his frozen soul. _

_ “Thank you for playing with me.” _

_ Lucifer was beneath him. He gasped, his hand around Sam’s wrist as he reached down deep, where there should have been a soul. But angels had no souls, there was nothing but frosted grace that climbed up his arm until he could feel nothing. The nothing made him sick, made him afraid, he just wanted to feel. But Lucifer wanted this, and He always got what He wanted. He pulled Sam close, exhaled His nothing so it enveloped him completely, used his hands to draw His own angelic blood, moaning and trembling as if the act of being torn apart was the most pleasurable thing in all of their lonely existence. Perhaps it was. It was either that, or the empty, the nothing, and that was worst of all. _

_ There were eyes in the sky. Rolling, bloodshot, wide and staring they leered at him. They were John’s eyes, Mary’s eyes, Bobby’s eyes, Dean’s eyes. Sam looked straight ahead. Nothing and nothing. His brother had lasted thirty years, Lucifer had let him rot in the dark for one and he had lost himself in it. He would say, do anything to feel. To have a body that experienced pain. Pain was welcome, a friend that reminded him that he was once a human being. One with thoughts, fears, hopes. There were other humans, not just the lost shadow of what Lucifer called ‘Adam’. He knew there must have been humans like him. John, Mary, Bobby, Dean. They were not but sounds that his tongue twisted to remember, words that lacked the ring of Enochian but that he must not forget, that he could not let go. Even when he was nothing.  _

_ But he was never nothing with Lucifer. His pain was real. His suffering was the only truth he could remember. The sounds, the words that had not come from Him, he did not know anymore why he must remember. He just wanted to feel. There were snakes circled around his arms, his legs, they were his muscles, his bones, they were Him. This was real, this was true. He drifted into nothing.  _

_ “You are alone, but you will always have me. You are mine. MFEO.” _

\---------------------

It was raining.

Sam felt the cool water in drops at first, then they collected, pooling in the planes of his face, rolling down until they fell onto the grass below him. For the first time in a while, it felt safe to breathe. The fresh, green-blue scent of the light storm drowned out the blood that laid like a heavy, prowling beast over the field. Water pounded the iron-sweet substance into the dirt, sucked it below the Earth until all that was left was the steady pants of just warmed breeze and the whistling rustle of leaves. 

He rolled onto his back and spread his arms out wide, wanting every inch of his skin, of his hair and clothes to be washed clean. He shut his eyes and breathed in deep. In, and out. Drop after splattering drop. He focused on his body, how it was placed in the world, in the reality of  _ now _ . He was on Earth, he had gotten out. Lucifer was gone. There was more than just pain and nothing. He breathed. In, and out. He let the rain wash it all away.

\---------------------

“What did you do this time Sam?” Amelia asked. She looked around at the empty field. The grass was wet from the storm, but besides that it was trampled, and under the smell of rain and grass there was something darker. The sky was lightening with near-morning sun, and beyond it she could see the bloodstains that survived the downpour.

In the middle of it all, was Sam. He kneeled where the blood was still wet and bright, phone grasped in a white knuckle grip. Presumably in the same position he had been in when he had called her an hour ago.

“It didn’t work… I gave everything, and it didn’t work…” He murmured, not turning around as she approached.

“I can see that.” She scoffed. Though she had tried not to, it was hard not to hear news when a Winchester did a blood ritual with an Alpha, killing too many innocents to count. She was done. “So much sacrifice to reverse the one sacrifice you can’t live with. I’d laugh if I didn’t think you’d kill me.”

“I need your help.”

This time she almost did laugh. After everything, he wanted her help now?

“I’ve helped you enough. The only reason I did what I did was because you threatened my life, and even then I warned you it wouldn’t work, that you’d only be ripping your soul further.”

“Please just, just this one thing.”

He sounded so broken, and so lost. She groaned, wanting nothing more than to leave him with this. Him, who had broken into her house and demanded her to help him, who cursed at her when she gave up so much to help him when he had no one else and then abandoned her to clean up his mess.

“I can’t undo what you’ve done Sam.”

“I’m not asking you to.” She raised one eyebrow. There was something different now. He wasn’t the same person, dangerously close to monstrous in his singular focus, his blind-sighted determination. She was done, but he was too.

“Then what?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Make me forget.”

“Sam…”

“No, Amelia. This is what I need. Dean is gone. But I can’t accept that after all that I’ve done. I failed, and in order to move on I have to put everything behind me.”

She sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“How much?”

“Everything between when Dean first left and now. I don’t want to remember any of it. Not Lucifer, not my attempt, not the demons or Hell or the vampires or this stupid fucking spell.” He stood in a rush, and she backed up a step as he towered over her. “I want it all gone.”

“Just like that?” She said, crossing her arms as he finally turned to face her. “And leave you with what, Sam? Months and months of nothing?” She didn’t seem to notice his flinch at the word. “You’re a hunter. If you forget that much time what makes you think you wouldn’t search for an answer? I can get rid of the memories but I can’t protect you from yourself.”

“You’re right, of course.” He put his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. There was a moment before he looked up and met her eyes with his own. “That’s why you’ll need to replace them instead of erasing them completely.”

“Replace them with what?”

“I don’t know Amelia,” He said, starting to pace, snapping his fingers as if that’d help his mind come up with ideas. “Well, I spent time with you. So maybe I moved on, found some semblance of normal life. That’s what he always wanted for me anyway. At least this way I wouldn’t be such a disappointment.”

“That’s it? Just you, giving up? Living the ‘apple pie’ lifestyle? Becoming a civilian?”

“Exactly. Once, that was what we both dreamed of for each other, and though we never would’ve admitted it…” He sighed, dropping his head, “we also both wanted it for ourselves.”

“Are you sure about this? About fake memories, and with me of all people.”

“I have nothing else. No one else, not in the whole world. Everyone I ever loved is dead or gone.” He grabbed her wrists gently, looking into her eyes as he continued, silently begging. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even after all I’ve done. I’d be glad to have memories of you. It’s better than the alternative.”

“What about…” She gestured vaguely to his head. 

“Lucifer?” She grimaced, and he took it as an affirmation. “I… found something that helps. I know it’ll never really go away, but hopefully, it won’t be such a problem from now on.”

“And the blood?”

“Never again.”

She nodded. “Ok, let's do it then.”

He bent over slightly so she could press her fingers to his temple, and she shut her eyes.

“Your brother disappeared. You had no one left,” She felt the magic flow from her heart, traveling down her veins, through her hands and to his mind. “You grieved, you cried, but you knew what your brother would’ve wanted.” She smiled to herself, remembering a time where she had done the same. Tried to be normal, to live a regular, human life. She still remembered what she had wanted to be. “In your pain, you didn’t see the dog in the road. You hit it, and you felt remorse for what you had done, because you are a good person. You took it to the veterinarian, where you met me, a normal woman, one who wasn’t burdened by the weight of the world. You were reluctant at first, afraid to open up after being so hurt, but eventually, you moved on. You found peace.”

She felt the story take root in his mind, his own subconscious filling in the small details and parts of the tale she had left vague. By the time they were finished, almost two hours had passed, her magic guiding the slow process of his memory’s reconstruction. It was more difficult than erasing it completely, but it was also much harder to undo. He would never know what he had truly done, and the damage he had caused. It was too much pain for one man to bear, especially when he had failed.

After they were done, he fell into a deep sleep, and for the first time she saw how truly vulnerable he could be. Using small amounts of magic to help, she brought him back to her car, and together they drove home as the sun stretched into the full light of day.

\---------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere deep in Maine’s 100-mile wilderness, something ripped through space with a keening screech and fizzle of ozone. A tear in a veil, edges wavering, unearthly blue and white. There was a hand, calloused and dirt stained and gripping some sort of crude weapon. Then there was an arm, cut and bloody, with a peculiar light emanating from just under the skin. Then there was the body, less stepping out of and more collapsing onto the earth, the tear suturing itself behind him.

As the forest breathed with the electric energy of night and the scent of old, powerful magic, Dean Winchester stood, and stared into the star-freckled sky.


End file.
